Harry & Holmes
by The Hufflepuff Marauder
Summary: A Liberal movement has caused the stirrings however of the far right political movements across Europe once more and Harry is being placed undercover in the muggle world with a new identity, but can his identity really fool the great Sherlock Holmes when they are thrown together on a murder case in Berlin? (NOT SLASH) HP/GW
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: THIS IS NOT SLASH. This is my second ever crossover. It is a Sherlock/Harry Potter (POST HOGWARTS). Set in about 2019. The next generation of wizards are all about improving muggle relations and getting on with everyone. A Liberal movement has caused the stirrings however of the far right political movements across Europe once more and Harry is being placed undercover in the muggle world with a new identity, but can his identity really fool the great Sherlock Holmes when they are thrown together on a murder case in Berlin?**

'Sherlock I won't tell you again, take your coat off'

Mrs Hudson was wittering to herself over a gin & tonic when John arrived at the flat. John smiled at her appreciatively as she handed him a coffee Sherlock was stood by the window wearing his long overcoat which looked damp from the early June rain.

'Is he busy –'

'Ask me John, not the landlady,'

'Do you ever stop?' John said irritated

'No because stopping would intimate me slowing down, of which I will be doing neither,'

'No I mean being rude,'

'Rudeness is a weakness.'

'No,' said John quickly 'being rude is your frequent talent,'

'Are you insulting my talents?' Sherlock replied not taking his eyes off the scenes unfolding outside.

'Sherlock- you said you needed me. Because you were snowed under' John said impatiently glancing around the flat, the laptop was sat upright and opened on several tabbed webpages. Empty coffee mugs and needles littered the small coffee table. 'This does not fill me with confidence,' he added.

'I am busy John. The world is alive. People are simple creatures, simple habits- but every once in a while an extraordinary one may just appear, and aha,' Triumphantly laughing Sherlock left his rigorously held stall by the window and beamed positively at John.

'Sherlock this day would be a lot better if you told me why you needed me-'

'My dear Watson, since when do I ever need to give you a reason?'

**/\/\/\/\**

Harry smirked. He knew he had won when he saw the flicker of silver slide from the scabbard, his enemy had made his final mistake. The blade pierced through the air in quick succession and Harry, exhilarated by the turn in his fortune ducked out of the way seamlessly.

'You won't take this from me,'

'I have no plans to take it from you, I just needed to know where it was.'

And with a clean sharp strike of his wand the long narrow blade evaporated from his enemy's hand.

'WE SAID NO WANDS,'

Felicity Barrass shouted.

Harry spun round grinning at the Defence Secretary sitting up high in her office from where she was viewing their latest Auror Training session with colleagues from the Muggle Liaison Office.

'I didn't use my wand,' said Harry smartly

'Non-Verbal magic Mr Potter is still magic. And NOT THE AIM OF THIS EXERCISE'

Harry snorted. Hadn't he proven himself growing up with people like Dudley Dursley that he was more than capable of using muggle techniques than wizards double his age?

'You cheated Potter,' said his opponent 'you just can't stop yourself from showing off can you?'

'I didn't cheat, Matt' he protested 'I just used my imagination – a muggle can't see a non-verbal attack can they?'

'It isn't the point,' said Matt 'we are supposed to be learning – we can't learn if you constantly break the rules,' pointedly glaring at Harry then glancing up towards their superiors.

Harry stiffened following Matt's gaze.

'I think on my feet, like you all should,' Harry said loudly. He heard the distinct sound of the office door slamming and Felicity was striding down the stairs towards them, her gold muggle attire wound tightly around her slight body.

'I will not have my agents disagreeing so formidably in front of the Senior Partners,' she hissed seething. Her dark toned skin shimmered in the overhead lights of the training room. 'Both of you need to understand each other- you are partners. You need to both learn to keep your cool if that can be achieved!'

'Harry you have one week till you will be deeply undercover in the muggle world, and you Price- well you could do better. One Week gents, then there will be no more practice. And you will be in the heart of the biggest case the MLO has ever undertaken,'

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: Thank you for the reviews :) **

**I am trying to work really hard on this story and appreciate the support you have shown for it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or HP characters. And Fabian Stoffel belongs to himself, at least I think he does...**

**\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The brunette had long legs which were covered in trim lace black and silver stockings which reached to the top of her knee and were tied with silver bows and suspenders. Her curvaceous figure was cupped in a silver and gold embroidered corset that hugged every part of her like a second skin.

Smoke filled the room like a heavy velvet curtain. Her confidence soared when she caught the eye of a dark barded gentleman sitting in the front row. She winked slowly at him thriving on the smile playing along his lips before she twirled her body around on her emerald green narrow pointed high heels.

The music pulsated the room. She felt the music. She didn't have to think that was the difference between her and those sat in the audience. San Nowell felt free. Able to throw herself into any situation she craved, required to feed her curiosity. The members of the audience were a mixture of ex-university alumni, there was the odd politician judging by the bland Red Herring dark blue suits and bright silk tie and San noticed the cocktail waitresses drift from table to table.

'We appear to have a minor problem.'

'They don't often occur in these parts without my knowing of them,' said Enid flicking through a copy of The Daily Express.

'Are you sure you know everything, because this minor problem has the ability to cause significant disturbances- '

'Mycroft put the frighteners on one of your other mugs, it won't wash here, not with me.' Enid said curtly running her tongue along the edge of her index finger she flicked through the newspapers' graphite pages.

'The problem is pertinent to you. Do you think I would come here?' he said stiffly. His eyes glanced across the room at the patrons of Giles Bar with disdain. Enid snorted barely lifting her attention to Mycroft's gaze.

'Your kind,' she emphasized 'always come here this places only exists because of those you call colleagues, Mycroft. They keep my bar busy, my tills full and my girls in full employ. Do you decry them a living?'

'Enid the minor problem at hand, the LF are making their voices heard'

'Oh when will you realise Mycroft,' she said exasperated keeping one eye on her girls and one on him 'whatever it is I am sure you are more than capable of pushing it all under the carpet like you have done countless times for your little brother, do you recall his little publicised dalliance in Dartmoor?'

Mycroft did not drink. Enid on the other hand signalled one of her waitresses who appeared swiftly a bottle of Black Sheep balancing on the tray. Mycroft's brow furrowed and a slight sneer crossed his face, marking out his bright brown eyes as if his conscious mind was at odds with his overstretching intelligence.

'Reminds me of home,' she said thoughtfully.

'Be on your guard, Enid. The Ministry-'

'Yours or mine, Mycroft?' she said the bottle of beer hovering an inch above the table it poured itself into the glass tumbler.

'This involves all of us,'

/\/\/\/\/\

Harry was not able to sleep. Alex the tabby whom he had unintentionally adopted when he moved into the apartment was sleeping. The flat was part of a larger complex of contemporary flats built into a large ruined church and the flat came with the cat.

And Harry wasn't complaining about the company. Even if Alex did bite his toes while he slept.

This bedroom was on the south side of the flat and his view was obscured by a high office building and let very little light in. Harry switched on the lamp next to his bed and a warm glow filled the room. Alex was as per usual perched at the very bottom of the bed curled up between Harry's feet.

'Dealing with emotions is a cauldron full of bat shit you know,' he mused gingerly stroking Alex behind the ear as he crossed the room. His head had been preoccupied with images from his past- which wasn't unusual given the circumstances of his upbringing, but during training today it had been roughly pushed to the forefront of his mind.

Harry reached for his wand on his dresser and moved into the living room switching on the lights he moved towards the kitchen. And once again Harry's mind drifted to Louisa – the silver and orange patterned wedding invitation stuck starkly to the front of his fridge.

He wondered what he had to lose if he actually went? The worst she would do is shout at him- but hadn't their parting of the ways been mutual, a logistical nightmare he had been too immature to navigate at the time? It hadn't been a bad parting, life just began to take them both over and it was heading in very different directions.

Harry opened the fridge and pulled out a purple biscuit tin, the cold metal feeling soft in his hand as he opened the lid and pulled out three different shaped biscuits covered in milk chocolate. Stuffing them hungrily into his mouth he then downed it with a swig of skimmed milk. As the fridge slammed shut the invitation fell to the floor. A loud purring announced the presence of a woken Alex who proceeded to rest his pert bottom on the invitation before Harry could pick it up.

'I take it you think I should go,' he asked Alex. A pair of bright green eyes stared back at Harry.

'Is that a yes?' Harry said. Alex purred and stretching up on his hind legs he dug his claws deeply into Harry's shin painfully wincing Harry picked Alex up in his arms and grabbed the invitation.

'Well Al, I think we need to get back to bed,' Harry said nuzzling Alex's ears affectionately.

'Looks like we have a wedding to attend tomorrow,'

\/\/\/\/\/\/\

There was an air of arrogance about his person when he strolled in. John could not abide men who had no right to be arrogant. The kind of men who seized upon your weakness and made it their mission to highlight it at every opportunity. Sherlock on the other hand was more arrogant than any dictionary definition and unlike the man sitting in the living room of 221b Baker Street had reason to shout about his talents but so often chose to obscure it from view. And this was something that had intrigued John Watson from the day he had met Sherlock Holmes.

He liked to prove people were wrong. But he did not seek the light of lime- in fact Sherlock lived a quiet life in between cases if he could and if Mycroft left him alone long enough for him to breath with his own set of lungs.

'I am right here, look,' and he jabbed his fat sausage like finger against the photograph in his hand, showing it to Sherlock. 'This says it all, my business-'

'You're an airport taxi driver, Mr Schriver,'

'My own private hire firm I'll have you know, inherited from my Uncle Martin-'

Typical thought John, another case of money, family and greed. This was hardly the case they had both been waiting for, and judging from Sherlock's previous excitement he had presumed there would be something different this time.

'She is stealing from you, but anyone could tell you that,' said Sherlock 'it's the way she did it- so simple. I think you will find that your wife is currently on a flight to Copenhagen to meet her apparantly "gay" best friend with whom she has been speaking with for months. And your money she has untouched- because that has been syphoned away into a trust fund for the daughter you never knew you had,'

'From this? You got all that? From this?' Mr Shcriver said outraged 'I thought she were having it off with – '

'John will you please escort this man out as I believe our next client is still hovering outside demanding our most deserved attention.'

\/\/\/\/\/\/

September 2019, Berlin

The crowd were dispersed when whirring sirens came to an abrupt stop outside the broken iron wrought gates of the graveyard. As the policemen emerged from the car the crowd swelled and cameras began clicking as Inspector Collins emerged from the Ford Fiesta bringing up the rear of the police car.

He was a tall man whose dark tanned skin stretched over his angular jaw like cloth stretched taught on tenterhooks. The dark blue Cuban heel he wore skidded on the gravel, he used the car door to steady himself- some of the surrounding women giggled.

'You alright Boss?'

'Of course, you seem surprised I am able to perform the task myself, Johnson' Collins said surmising the patronising look from his subordinate.

'No Boss' Stoffel was turning a mild colour of crimson. 'I just meant-'

'And while we're on it I despise that term,' he said shortly 'you should learn that I differ highly from your previous Chief Inspector,'

'Move,' he said sharply to the women in his way who just gave him a simpering smile 'immediately unless the charge of loitering with intent is how you intend to begin your criminal record,'

'Manners cost nothing Chief Inspector, not even a Euro,' called a photographer. Wychrij pushed past trying not to slip as he parted the crowds and strode through the gates, Stoffel following two steps behind.

'Do I look like I carry cash when I am working?' he responded sarcastically padding down the pockets of his short brown cord jacket.

Policemen were standing guard around the cordoned area- the blue and white police tape stretched from the bushes that lined the cemetery to the gravestones and back twice around the public footway. Headstones varied in size and shape but it was not the graves nor the decomposing corpses that festered beneath the heathen soil that interested Inspector Collins.

'Where do you hide a body if not in plain sight?' Stoffel commented lifting his e-cig to his thin lips, Collins looked mildly irritated as his subordinate vaped. 'Problem Sir?'

Collins struggled to even raise an inquisitive brow instead he began to gaze at the scene before him, scrutinising the disturbed graves and watching the forensics teams gingerly navigate the ostentatious gravestones.

'Do you have anything useful to tell us, we're not paid to form opinions' said Collins cuttingly 'the Ministry doesn't afford you the luxury, Stoffel'

A woman in a bright green jumpsuit was strolling between the headstones and the crowd of people still needing to be held back by the police guarding the crime scene. She was tall and dark haired wearing dark leather green boots matching the suit, a camera dangled around her neck and bounced against her curved frame.

'Oh hello there, I'm Lissa Kuhle. Bit of a funny onion this one' she said nodding to the corpse. 'Dead sixteen hours at least, but probably been in the ground a lot longer. How's your day going so far?' Her accent jumped around so much that Collins struggled to keep up with her, she distractedly flew from one thought to another in quick succession.

'Better than his' Collins said humorously

**\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

**AN: Please drop me a review and tell me what you think. And any tips on how I could improve will be appreciated! **

**/\/\/\/\/\/\**

\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	3. Chapter 3

**Harry & Holmes**

**_'No idea why people think you are incapable of human emotion' _**

**_-MH- _**

**_'You'd be amazed what a Receptionist picks up'_**

**_-MW-_**

**_/\/\/\/\/\_**

**Authors Note: This is a WIP and will take a long time to complete so please be patient. I do not own a thing. HP belongs to JKR. Sherlock belongs to the estate of ACD and the wonderful producers at the BBC who reinvented him. The story is my own, but the characters belong to everyone else.**

**Enjoy your day in paradise as every day we live is a gift.**

Chapter 3

The short man was of no remark. He had a pleasant round face framed by set of angular glasses and his hair was black, short, back and sides. When he arrived at 221b Baker Street he was not entirely convinced the man residing in these quarters would live up to everything he had read, but he was hopeful that as this was his last chance at redemption there was nothing to lose.

He pushed open the door and began the ascent up the dark wooden staircase. A man rushed past him swearing and grumbling and he flung the door open and marched out on to the street.

'We don't have another client, Watson. I just wanted to get rid of the odious man'

'Right. Well I think I should get back to Mary- unless there are other matters pertaining my loyal attention?'

'I don't _need_ your attention, Watson.' He retorted scathingly. Watson smiled.

'_You do need_ a lot of things Sherlock, and I am under the assumption most the time _you_ _do need __**me**__.'_

'Don't let your emotions rule you, Watson. You're less agreeable when you have feelings'

'Because I don't agree with you sometimes you mean,' retorted Watson 'oh hang on'

The sharp knock on the door alerted both of them.

'Have I suddenly entered a universe where I can divine the future or is that our next client' grinned Sherlock his eyes intently fixed on the door. 'Watson, seeing as you were planning on your exit mind opening the door?'

Watson huffed yanking the door open.

'Is this the Detective Agency of Mr Holmes?' said the round faced man. Watson nodded curtly, slightly amused that the man described them as an "agency" inviting the man from the hallway into the modestly decorated surroundings of 221B. Sherlock gazed at their new client surmising his life, his motives, his penchant for creating musical synthetic pieces and his distinct Luxembourgian dress sense.

'And I'm Dr Watson,' shaking the mans' hand vigorously he said 'take a seat, I wonder _do you need me_ Sherlock?' he added cocking his head to one side staring at Sherlock.

'Stay,' said Sherlock sighing his gaze averted back towards the window as the new client took up the seat. 'But not because I need you. But because if you step outside that front door Watson there is every possibility you might get shot, isn't that correct?' swivelling his head towards their new client Sherlock smirked expectantly.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

'How did you- '

'Don't bother asking him' Watson muttered taking in a short breath. 'Just sit. And tell us why you need our help, Sherlock? Come away from the blasted window, there is always somebody wanting to kill us. It wouldn't be a Sunday if an armed arse hole wasn't living across the road'

'Just on Sundays?' smirked Sherlock.

'Mr Holmes can I play?' said the client 'I can tell you exactly who is outside the window. And unlike your assumption,' he paused giggling 'ass-ump-'regaining his composure he added 'I know who is our target,'

'Our' said Holmes curiously

'Yes, I would give you my name if it proved of use to you. Mr Holmes we have been working on the same case for a number of years you and I were just not aware of each other's presence'

'Impossible.' Holmes said dismissively 'I would never knowingly work on a case without knowing every single person associated with it- what case could you possibly be talking about?'

'Was this a case before we met, Sherlock?' asked Watson folding over the pages of his notebook carefully.

'I remember every case I have worked on, Watson. There are never any exceptions and I have never met you before,' he said pointedly staring at the man in the seat 'I have identified several things about you already. But like you said they don't all pertain to why you are here, remind me why I don't know you'

'Oh you do Mr Holmes, you do' he said and both Watson and Holmes watched the man reach inside the pocket of his light coloured green leather jacket. Watson was first to move.

'Don't worry, I don't plan to use it' said the client. Watson sighed with relief as he eyed the short thin piece of wood sitting in the mans' lap. 'Not in the way you think at least, you aren't scared which is an overwhelmingly positive sign, I giggled too when my wand was first presented to me.'

'If you're going to perform a magic trick do get on with it' Holmes waspishly snapped.

'You really want to invite me to perform magic, you don't know-'

'You are a Luxembourg ex-pat living in Berlin, traces of a pungent sewage smell linger on you coat. A delicate haircut such as yours would suggest you care little for your appearance and are in no way out to impress anyone. -'

'Theatrics, oh how I love them' said the client jovially tapping his feet. 'Mr Holmes would you permit me to do a bit of magic-'

'You cannot be serious' Watson shook his head 'Sherlock-'

'Show us,' said Sherlock

'Oh I like it when people are so agreeable'

'So do I' replied Sherlock 'please, Mr?'

'No, no' hummed the client 'you will remember my name, but have just forgotten that I belong to it'

'Okay Gandalf,' said Watson crossly. He stood up 'enough with the Rings Quotes. If you want our help?' he made a move towards the man who was just patiently sat a warm but worried smile on his face. Watson confused blinked.

'If I can intervene Watson' interjected Sherlock 'is someone exploiting you?'

'There are difficulties within my world Mr Holmes. And I doubt you would object to allowing me permission to perform a small trick for you and Dr Watson?'

'John,' said Sherlock fixing his companion with a hard stare 'let our guest show us what he can do, as long as he is in this building I believe all three of us will be safe' he beamed at the client who was

'Reneverate Maxima'

**\/\/\/\/\/\/\/**

**AN: Thank you for reading. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: Sorry for the lack of updates I got distracted by someone who won't distract me again because he's a fuckin' arse who needs to go boil his head in some deep. But I will not delay with my ramblings about my complicated international social life. **

**Disclaimer: Holmes does not belong to me. HP belongs to JKR. Thank You**

**'I'm not sweet. I'm just high' - Sherlock, Season 4, Ep. 2**

**\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The feelings flooding through him was worse than the worst high Sherlock had ever experienced - his memories were distorted and the truth obscured along the curved lines of his conscious mind. He didn't have a second before his body slammed against the floor his head narrowly missing the Chesterfield chair and the ceiling began to spin into a tornado of light and shapes morphing and twisting into horrendous hideous animals screaming, killing each other grasping at their blood soaked throats. Sherlock then had an enormous feeling of being pulled downwards as if falling a hundred floors in a lift and then nothing. He stopped. Suspended in a world he couldn't work out, yet a world he could've so easily belonged to.

Unable to comprehend precisely how long he was on the floor infuriated Holmes more than the visions of animals- humans- green tiled rooms, pink painted bed rooms and a wild rose garden filled with flowers of every colour. No Holmes wanted to know how to wake up, he hadn't left Baker Street and that he was sure of but as the lids of his eyes flickered into the back of his head he was uneasily incorrect.

'He looks a bit worse for wear, you sure he'll be alright'

Holmes wanted to react, but his body refused to cooperate with his mind. Watson, where was Watson? The question ran over and over in his mind until his brain finally caught up and he saw where he was. He didn't recognise it immediately. The man whose name was Stoffel was staring down at him a look of insincerity on his face as if Holmes had been the one causing the ruckus.

'Nothing this man cannot withstand.' said Stoffel's voice louder than Holmes liked to hear. He was a squeaky voiced man who made everything sound like he had been released from the ACME factory of laughs, Holmes doubted he Stoffel ever was taken seriously by anyone he ever spoke too. 'It's his ability to withstand this level of magic which makes him so valuable to the Ministry.'

'The Ministry? Sorry, what are we talking about?' said John 'and why is Sherlock still lying half dead in this, in this place?'

'Augusta Longbottom is the best Healer outside of St Mungos Doctor Watson. And she may have a certain _personal _interest in our little case study'

'Case Study? No you tell me now, Sherlock! Sherlock!' Watson yelled, Sherlock's brain finally caught up. He sat bolt upright the sensation of travelling a long journey shaking from his mind. There were no restraints securing him to the purple leather sofa and both John and Stoffel were standing above him talking. 'Christ! Sherlock!'

'I'm not perfectly fine before you assume it. I need a moment' he blinked slowly the room coming into standing focus Sherlock felt his eyes flood with natural light from a wide open window. He recognised this place. The soft touch of the leather upholstery on the nape of his neck where he had been lying, the scent of cinnamon and fig candles lingering on the air and the mismatched dark wood furniture stinking of heavy seedy polish.

'If that man is already awake then what are you waiting for'

'Augusta he needs a moment'

'A moment, he probably needs days. sherlock are you alright?' asked John apprehensively watching Sherlock as he collapsed back into the sofa.

'One moment, John. Do I need to remind you I am fully capable of a quick recovery-'

'Sherlock I don't understand what just happened here but you need to listen very carefully because I think this is a bowl full of damn madness'

'Oh John you so willingly accompany me wherever, how is this any different' said Sherlock gesturing to their current predicament 'we are I no danger, no physical harm has been done to us. And you are standing side by side with the man who seemingly has sought to abduct us, so my conclusion is that we are likely to be safe.'

'Not a difficult deduction Mr Holmes. Your usual standard would be higher however you are sincerely correct. My magic though, isn't what it used to be' he said holding his left arm tightly 'the power doesn't come as easy these days. Old injury, magic flowing needs a steady hand one I am no longer blessed with. but you remember that, don't you SHerlock?'

'I seem to be missing something-'

'Your back where you belong Mr Holmes. Because it turns out we are in dire need of your services. And the Ministry of Magic saw fit to restore your memories. Dr Watson I am sure you have questions too. And I love to give answers! It's my favourite thing actually, giving people puzzles and then I get all giddy and can't help myself' Stoffel giggled girlishly.

'And you need my help with... wait... no...NOOOOOOO!'

And the memories of magic crashed over Sherlock Holmes harsher than any East Wind.

**\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

When his memories began to return to him Sherlock felt sick. He had been manipulated- his world twisted and the last six months- Mary dying- Eros- the drug addled state he had found himself in on a daily basis. Memories messed with, his life controlled beyond his power and now he was sitting in the living room of one of the most powerful witches in the world with a cup of hot Darjeeling sat in front of him.

'Sherlock do you believe us?' Stoffel asked 'the situation will work much easier if my spell worked'

'It was all real?' he said. His eyes falling on the occupied chair where Stoffel was twirling a lengthy piece of wood in his hand. Sherlock watched him curiously play with the lengthy splinter. 'John, I wasn't hallucinating was I?'

'This can't be real' said John to Stoffel. 'Magic aside, you wanted our help solving a murder. You said someone had died.'

'I am not lying' said Stoffel 'there is a murder, a murder which involves you Doctor Watson'

'Magic doesn't exist, not at least the way you're telling us. And I have never ever left this country since I came back over five years ago. What does Germany have to do with me?' said John flatly denying everything being told to him. Turning his attention back to Sherlock 'logical solutions Sherlock, that's what we have always worked with. Magical powers belong in books Sherlock, you know that.'

'In what way does it involve John Watson. Be specific and for a moment let us forget that you stole my memories and have only just returned them to me. For which I will be preparing a long list of questions' said Sherlock, he wasn't ignoring John because even to him he was now aware that something else in the world was very possible playing around on the fringes of their reality. And Sherlock now remembered every moment he had spent in the world of wizards.

'Stoffel! Is he awake?' cried Augusta Longbottom her cane hitting the hard stone floor as she entered the room. She eyed Sherlock and Watson with a boastful gleeful look in her eyes 'then we can rest assured he is going to take my case?'

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry crossed the barrier with no trouble. He slipped into the throng of other witches and wizards, his life was somewhat different to the early days he could not pass seamlessly between the muggle and magical world with barely a bat of an eyelid. The occasional muggle would stop and star at him as if reliving a melodramatic magical fantasy- mistaking Harry for the well written and publicised character in the adventures of Simon Snow. No Harry was rather content, the defeat o the Dark Lord years now had passed and he was just like any other wizard. With a job to be done.

Diagon Ally was crowded with young wizards and witches queuing outside Weasley's for the sticky bonfire toffee apples so popular on Bonfire night which this year fell on the Friday, two days after what would've been Sirius' birthday and the display of the Firebolt mark II in the Quidditch shop raised a smile from his lips. He was agreeing to meet Freya Ishtar, the local reporter from the Prophet was the first appointment of the day before he would need to head into the Ministry for his meeting with Rina Brooks. Freya was a vital source of information- her connections to the underworld were legendary and her former close association with one Theodore Nott made her for quite the acquaintance.

'Oh I think you know what you did'

'Fine! Fine! Fine!' cried the girl with green hair she cackled. 'You have no idea about him. What he goes through just to get up in the morning'

'You sabotaged me, Freya!'

She flashed a wide smile, two of her teeth were painted brightest silver and glinted in the office lights.

'No dearie you did it all by yourself' she sang twirling a sugar quill in her teeth. 'Your mother was a horrid poisonous insect. You rely on her name, god knows why anyone still thinks her name holds weight'

'I don't' said the witch tartly. 'My article is just as good as Carl's'

'Get out,' said Freya with no care of concern in her voice. Her brown eyes flew to the ornate silver clock hanging from the wall. 'I don't want or need you in my office, I know what you did. Lets leave it at that' said Freya with a small smile and slowly rose her eyes to meet with the witch who was staring her down furiously. 'Get out' she repeated this time in a gentle yet forceful whisper.

Harry was climbing the stairs to the offices when he was nearly sent flying by a blonde haired witch who resembled Rita Skeeter to the point where Harry had an overwhelming feeling to shield himself from her but as she brushed past him he saw the obvious signs that she wasn't the former reporter, for one thing she looked younger.

He reached the wide landing and several rooms were sealed but at the very end of the corridor Freya was sat at her desk, her pale cream coloured camel skin skirt sitting half way up her leg exposing her shapely curves matched with a pale yellow jumper Harry noticed she was engrossed in a ream of parchment that spiralled over her shoulder. Harry suspected (from her attire) that she was clearly expecting him.

'Another day, another meeting with fabulous me. Good Morning Harry' said Freya brightly. 'Take a seat, oh hang on,' she glared at the fluffy brown furry cat 'move it Scotty' the cat hissed angrily and when he didn't move Freya shoved him to the floor.

'This meeting was a surprise' said Harry

'That's because I have some information for you. If you want it.'

'I wouldn't be here if I didn't'

Acknowledging his honest sentiment she furled up the parchment and waved her wand floating the parchment away, the large filing cabinet behind her desk opened and two rolls of parchment flew out wildly, Freya grabbed them and handed them quickly to Harry.

'Lists, all this nonsense going on. The political instabilities these muggles are facing effects us all. Europe is not a happy place, and that list gives your bosses exactly what they need to know. Someone is moving, have you heard what happened in Dresden?'

'The Far Right, you mean?' suggest Harry

'Well there is a threat to _**us**_ in and amongst this. The Magical Liberation Front is heading our way.'

**\/\/\/\/\**

**Three Weeks Later...**

The book shop was squeezed between two unattractive tall grey painted houses with narrow thin framed windows and the brightly coloured windows of the book shop stood starkly out between the monotone buildings. Books were displayed jauntily in the window on top of upturned crates, piles and piles of the same book by a well known female author were proudly rammed up close to the glass, wands and cauldrons were littered around the titles.

Harry had spent the last two weeks watching the occupant of the little book shop, a middle age balding man with a lilted Ukrainian accent after Harry bought a collection of children's books he engaged his prey in a light conversation. Now Harry was sat back in the red Mini cooper a McDonald's burger box sat open on his lap, the smell of deep fried chicken and barbecue sauce filling the small confined space. He licked the sticky sauce from his fingers and turned the radio up.

'MPs today will be voting on new legislation against Fox hunting and Jeremy Corbyn is backing plans to reintroduce a nationwide ban after Johnson's conservative government voted to allow Fox hunting to continue...'

Harry grunted swallowing down a chunk of sweet brioche bun. He cast his eyes back towards the book shop, blinds covering the front door were still firmly shut. The man always took a long lunch on a Thursday and today was no different. He knew Holmes was trailing him on the lunch hour giving Harry opportunity to eat -Watson had dropped lunch off before heading back to his afternoon surgery, Holmes didn't want Watson too involved with little Rosie now Watson's main concern Holmes was taking full advantage of Harry's compliance.

Sherlock however was fooled by his own brilliance. Harry wasn't compliant. He had his own motives. His own reason to be sat in a freezing car in the middle of November stuffing greasy fried chicken down his neck observing the comings and goings of the inhabitants of Upholland Row.

Adamant diligence was Sherlock's problem, he was so busy looking at everything he failed to notice the one thing in front of him that would obscure the truth from him, Harry was protecting his own interests ad those of the thousands of witches and wizards he was sworn to protect from people like Sherlock Holmes.

\/\/\/\/\/

'Mrs Hudson where do you keep the clove oil? I can't seem to get Rosie to sleep and'

John threw open the cupboards clattering loudly around the small carpeted kitchen careful not to trip over the copious amounts of upturned Axminsters and rugs lying precariously around the kitchen floor.

'Under the sink. Its where I kept all the drugs John'

'Of course you did' he sighed resignedly pulling open the small cupboard he reached in behind the pipes and his fingers enclosed around a metal box. Rosie cried louder and John hurried up slamming retrieving the clove oil and slamming the box shut. 'I'm coming, Rosie.'

'Did you find it John' Mrs Hudson called

'Yes, yes thank you Mrs Hudson' he said walking over to Rosies crib with the thick yellowing glass tub clutched in his hand. 'Right, now come on Rosie' he said gently picking her up Rosie's mop of messy curls flopped into the crevice of his shoulder. 'Dad has to get back to work, there we go' he said priming her thumb to her mouth he slowly rubbed the clove oil in small circles along her gum line, she wailed louder.

'John! Sherlock is back'

'I haven't really the time Mrs Hudson, afternoon surgery starts in ten minutes and the tube is a nightmare this time of day'

'Oh don't be like that' she said fussing over a pile of freshly ironed doilies. She held them up in the light of the window and tutting loudly shaking her head in a disapproving way said 'they never come out quite how you expect, do they?'

'I've given Rosie the clove oil, should settle her better this afternoon' he said ignoring Mrs Hudsons subtle suggestion wrapping his deep blue scarf warmly around his neck, he tucked it comfortably into his double breasted jacket.

'John! You aren't listening to me. Sherlock is doing what he thinks is best for you, keeping you away from all that nasty business with those, those... wizards?' even when Mrs Hudson said it Watson still struggled to believe her. There was always an infinite resolution with Holmes but magic, well that provided you with more answers than any mortal man could dream off as well as conjuring up an entirely new set of problems. 'You can still talk to one another-'

'He has clearly stated he doesn't need my help on this case Mrs Hudson.'

'Sherlock needs you John, he needs you to stay safe. Doesn't mean you have to ignore one another!'

'Its a little more complex than that Mrs Hudson' said John calmly he checked his watch. 'Must go,'

John felt like had been side lined by Sherlock and that was worse than him throwing him underneath a bus in John's stoic opinion and despite his ongoing duties as a GP, father and friend he still yearned for the thrill that came with working on a case but now he was simply the delivery man- dropping lunch off, at varying times to avoid suspicion, at Upholland Row.

John kissed Rosie on the forehead, her crying starting to subside she reached her arms up tugging at his burgeoning beard. He smiled and kissed her again.

'See you tonight Mrs Hudson' he said giving her a small peck on the cheek. Closing the door behind him John heard Sherlock's voice bellow from upstairs and the sound of the flat door slamming, so loud John was surprised the glass panes didn't shatter.

'Good afternoon, thank you. Goodbye'

And an angry looking red haired woman flew down the stairs tears rolling down her face and she flew out into the mid winter afternoon.

'Sherlock' groaned John. Wrestling with his conscious mind he wondered, well, correctly presumed the little floor show was presented to him to get his attention, but it wasn't going to work this time. And John headed out of 221 B Baker street with not another glance back. Rosie was safe with Mrs Hudson. And that was what _really_ mattered to John Watson.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

**Authors Note: Phewsh, that was a long chapter. I will be drawing out a long flashback in the next chapter about Harry & Holmes meeting for the first time which is something that quite excites me. Not to mention we are getting a new computer so yippeeee!**


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